


If Only For a Day

by hypothetical_chainsaw



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Baby Fic, Fluff, Gen, magic baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw
Summary: Why was Hilda so nonplussed by the concept of Zelda creating a magic baby? Because it wouldn't be the first time it had happened.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	If Only For a Day

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to the lovely @timelady_queenofhell! Have a completely fluffy (okay maybe there's a little angst peppered in too) birthday fic centred around our favourite witches 💜

When Hilda arrived in the kitchen that morning, it was to a seldom seen sight. Her sister before the stove. Strange enough in itself, but a quick check of the wall clock proved it to be far more out of character than even that; it was 6am. On her most driven of days, Zelda could be expected to rise by 8am at the very earliest, but even that was a rare enough occurrence that it garnered raised brows.

Whatever she was preparing smelled inoffensive enough as it simmered away on the stovetop, and yet the ferocity with which it bubbled left Hilda uneasy. It was then she realised she was humming. Satan, that couldn’t be good.

“Zelds?” Hilda tried, stepping cautiously into the room.

The humming stopped as Zelda glanced quickly over her shoulder, a broad smile taking hold of her features, cheeks dimpling slightly at the action. Something was very, very wrong.

“Didn’t expect you up this early. Everything okay?”

“Perfectly fine, Hilda. Archibald’s an early riser.” Zelda stated plainly before returning her attention to her cooking.

“Archibald?”

It was then she saw him; the tiny tot perched atop the kitchen counter, gnawing inquisitive on a wooden spoon. He could be no more than six months old; sitting unaided but still only a trifle bigger than the baby she’d delivered the day before. And quite a bit smaller than the pot on the stove. _No, not another one!_ If the mortals weren’t suspicious already, they soon would be if many more of their children went missing inexplicably.

Rounding the kitchen island, feet stumbling over each other in her haste, Hilda scooped the child onto her hip, her sister faltering at the sudden disturbance.

“Hilda please, he doesn’t need mollycoddling.” She admonished, reaching out to accept the baby.

Retreating hurriedly, Hilda cradled his head to her chest, shaking her own violently, “No. I won’t have you sacrificing another child in the Dark Lord’s name. He’s an innocent _baby,_ Zelda.”

An exaggerated eye roll taking hold, Zelda returned to the stove, turning off the burner. She located a small bowl from the cupboard at her left and ladled out a generous portion of porridge.

"The only thing I'd like to do is give my son his breakfast before that spoon loses its appeal."

 _Son._ The word didn’t compute. But staring down into the little cherub’s face without the pressing fear that he was destined for the stew pot she had to admit an uncanny likeness to her sister. His eyes sparkled the same emerald hue, the light smattering of hair atop his head was just as vibrant, and his chin bore the distinctive chin dimple she had so fretted over in her youth. And yet Zelda didn’t have a son, much less a six month old.

Zelda held her arms out expectantly, the boy instantly attempting to wriggle free of Hilda’s firm grip. Still refusing to acquiesce, she held the child tighter to her, searching her sister’s eyes for any sign of deception. There was her usual annoyance but other than that, only... _softness._

“Hilda,” Her tone hardened at her sister’s obvious appraisal, “We have a schedule to keep to.”

“You don’t have a son. I may be a tad scatter-brained at the moment but that I’d remember.”

It was true that since they’d taken on midwife responsibilities for Edward’s new mortal bride she’d been a little more frazzled but - _oh._ Understanding hitting her, she loosened her grasp just enough for Zelda’s hands to slip between her arms and sit the boy on her own hip.

“There now,” She smiled down at the infant in her arm with a warmth that seemed most unnatural on her features, “It’s time for your breakfast, my darling one.”

Brushing past Hilda, she set him in the highchair Diana had recently bought in preparation for their future niece or nephew’s visits. Archibald released the wooden spoon from his stubby fingers upon seeing the bowl in his mother’s hands. It clattered loudly on the floor below. Paying it no mind, Zelda scooped the smallest taste of porridge onto a teaspoon, blowing on it before flying it through the air in intricate weaving patterns much to the baby’s delight.

“Open up for the witch’s broom.” She all but singsonged, sending the spoon swooping down to his mouth.

“Zelda, did you make a magic baby because you’re…” She trailed off. No matter what it very clearly looked like, to suggest that Zelda might be lonely was near suicide, “Because Edward’s about to be a father.”

“What poppycock.” Zelda brushed away the notion with a sweep of her hand, “I couldn’t care less about the little half-breed his mortal’s carrying. But it does seem foolish to be telling my patients what to expect when I haven’t experienced it myself.” As Archibald reached out a little hand towards the bowl again, she prepared another bite, swirling the spoon mid-air, “Do you truly think me ridiculous enough to magic a baby, for any reason other than study, knowing the limitations?”

Not ridiculous enough, but broody enough maybe. And if the twinkle in her eyes was anything to go by, the baby’s disappearance when the spell reached its end the next day would only make it worse.

* * *

It was uncharacteristic for Greendale to experience a day so mild this late in September. And yet, as Hilda stepped out onto the porch that afternoon, the sun broke through the treeline, dappling the graveyard and lawn before it. Had she known she would have prepared some garden work to make the most of the time they could still spend outside without so much as a jacket to warm them. She heavily suspected Zelda must have checked the weather forecast before planning the arrival of her temporary nephew as she now reclined on the lawn upon their old checkered blanket, sunning herself. Archibald sat to her right, encircled in the safety of her arm.

Had it not been for the particular set of circumstances creating the scene before her, Hilda could imagine nothing she’d enjoy seeing more upon stepping out into the garden on an autumn afternoon. It was no secret that her sister had a soft spot for infants. Every baby they delivered was treated to a rare Zelda Spellman smile as she weighed and cleaned it. And on the few occasions that mothers had seen fit to bring their toddlers with them to Black Mass, she had happily kept them entertained with small displays of magic while their brother delivered his sermons.

The hope had been that, when Diana finally gave birth, being an aunt to the new-born would provide the outlet she required. But awaiting what they thought would likely be her due date next month had seemingly proved too much for Zelda.

A smile curved Hilda’s lips unbidden, as Zelda plucked a dandelion from the grass next to her, blowing the seeds off into the breeze. The child sat captivated, a pudgy arm reaching out in an attempt to catch any of the wisps as they fluttered past his face. He missed them all but was soon spellbound by the fresh puff held before him by his mother. She helped him grasp the stem, holding his hand within hers and, when his body-shaking sneeze cast the seeds from the plant, Zelda was as enchanted with him as he was with the specs floating away on the breeze.

Their moment was ruined however, by the car rumbling up the drive, disturbing the peace of mother and son. Edward’s car. In the events of that day Hilda had forgotten Diana was due another check up.

As they rolled to a halt, Zelda scowled as their brother helped his heavily pregnant wife from the sedan. A flourish of Zelda’s hand placed a whiskey glass in her left hand and a baby bottle in her right, sating both herself and her child’s disquiet.

Edward’s eyes met Hilda’s, as he guided Diana up the porch steps, his brow furrowed with the same concern she felt.

“What has she done this time?”

* * *

On Saturdays Hilda liked an early night. It had been her routine for the last hundred years or so; a warm glass of milk and a book, snuggled beneath the duvet. Much of the appeal was lost, however, with a child nestled in the bed across the room, enjoying much the same bedtime set up.

The book was one Hilda recalled fondly from her childhood: Bluebeard. Zelda had read it to her every night before bed until she had left for the Academy. Looking back, a story centred around uxoricide was probably not the best for a child so impressionable, and yet she had loved it all the same.

Now it seemed Archibald loved it just as much, settled in against his mother’s chest, one hand lost in her hair as his head rested above her heart. They’d often advised new mothers that their little ones would find their heartbeat a soothing reminder of the womb, but to see it in person was something else entirely, especially with a baby with no experience of the latter. And yet it looked so very right.

Turning the page, Zelda held the book with one hand, the other keeping his bottle at his lips as he suckled quietly.

“Once upon a time there was a man who had fine houses, both in town and country, a deal of silver and gold plate, carved furniture, and coaches gilded all over.” She punctuated the sentence with a kiss to the top of the infant’s fiery curls, “But unhappily this man had a blue beard, which made him so ugly and so terrible that all the women and girls ran away from him.”

Her tone was the softest Hilda had ever heard it as she lulled the baby off to sleep and, as she herself fell victim to her sister’s tranquil tones and the draw of sleep, she thought she saw a single tear trace her cheek.

* * *

Zelda’s bed was empty when Hilda woke the next morning, all traces of the child having existed gone.

Searching for how she could best help, she decided a fresh batch of French toast as a little pick me up, on what was likely to be a difficult day for both of them, would do wonders. It was doubtful her sister would acknowledge any upset at the loss, but a little morning sugar never hurt where Zelda was concerned.

It wasn’t until she reached the kitchen that it became apparent that perhaps the sugar boost wouldn’t be necessary after all; Zelda was _humming._

For the second morning in a row, Zelda stood before the stove, mixing a large pot atop it. She turned upon hearing Hilda’s arrival, plucking a small child in a mass of white frills and ribbons from the counter to situate her on her hip.

“Hilda, meet Winifred.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank Satan Sabrina came along a few weeks later! Our Zee'd be running out of names in no time!
> 
> Let me know what you think and thanks for reading!


End file.
